


Who Pays the Cost

by KaelinaLovesLomaris



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination Attempt(s), Background Character Death, Bombing, Gen, Gun Violence, Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of past child death, Revenge, Survivor Guilt, Whump, or happy-ish at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelinaLovesLomaris/pseuds/KaelinaLovesLomaris
Summary: It's Noctis's 18th birthday, and he's been forced to attend a gala for his coming-of-age, but there are a few people who are there for reasons other than celebration.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia
Comments: 14
Kudos: 175





	Who Pays the Cost

**Author's Note:**

> I’m incapable of being nice to Noctis even on his birthday.  
> I wrote half of this yesterday, and then finished it today. The things I do for ~~love~~ Noctis.  
> Title is from _This Is Our Time_ by Hidden Citizens.

The gala for Noctis’s 18th birthday had been in full swing for several hours, and they were past the polite pre-dinner mingling, and the dinner itself - which was Noctis’s favorite part, because the cooks didn’t try to serve him vegetables for once, and the amount of required talking was minimized - and were now in his least favorite part of any such function: the post-dinner socializing.

The middle of the room had been cleared for dancing for anyone who was so inclined, and there was a string quartet in the corner playing something classical but mildly upbeat. Thus far, Noctis had avoided being asked to dance, which he was incredibly grateful for. He knew it was unlikely he would escape it the entire night; now that he was 18, every noble family in Insomnia would be pushing their eligible daughters at him in hopes of marrying into the royal family. He couldn’t restrain the grimace that crossed his face at that thought.

Since the gala was for him to celebrate his coming-of-age, he was a slightly more popular target for conversation than he usually was at events like this, even more so than his dad. But as his dad had warned, the nobles were now seeing him as someone they needed to get close to in preparation for his eventual ascension. He hated it.

He’d been trying his best to avoid some of the more obnoxious council members without it _looking_ like he was avoiding them, bouncing between the ones he knew he could get away with just nodding at every now and then without actually paying attention to what they were saying, and occasionally sneaking off to the dessert tables where he could steal a minute to text Prompto under the guise of finding the right piece of cake.

Prompto had been invited, of course, after a long, wheedling conversation with his dad to secure said invite, but Noctis hadn’t been surprised when his best friend had turned it down. Large gatherings of nobility were worse than a nest of vipers, and Prompto would have drawn a stressful amount of scorn for his Niflheim heritage. Even if he hadn’t had the distinctive Niflheim coloration, it wasn’t exactly a state secret that Noctis’s best friend was a Niflheim refugee foster kid, but if he could spare Prompto from being exposed to the open disdain of the short-sighted nobility, he would. Which was why he had given Prompto a guilt-free out from attending the gala and promised a more intimate party on the weekend with just the four of them.

Even so, Noctis had had to stand through more than a few thinly veiled lectures about the dangers of fraternizing with non-native Lucians, and he made sure to note who he would have to kick off the Council once those were his decisions to make.

He had just gotten away from the head of one of the lower noble houses, one with clear aspirations upward, if his more obvious than usual attempts at pushing Noctis towards his daughter were any indication, and was looking forward to another dessert table text break when he was accosted by one of his dad’s councilmen. Councilman Severo was unfortunately one of the ones who expected an actual _conversation_ rather than just wanting to hear himself talk, so Noctis would be forced to pay attention and participate. He gritted his teeth before turning around to face him. This really was _not_ how he wanted to spend his birthday.

As Noctis had expected, the man had nothing of any real importance to say, blathering on about this law and that fashion trend and oh what a fine young man you’ve grown into, Your Highness, perhaps you’d like to think about adding my son to your retinue? You have space after all, and you really ought to have more than one Insomnian-born in your inner circle.

The slight towards not only Prompto, as one of Noctis’s future intended retainers, if Prompto wanted the position, but also _Ignis_ made Noctis’s blood boil. That was a path very few people - only the most foolish or the most overconfident - chose to trod, ever since Ignis had made his own political acumen very well known with his ability to verbally eviscerate anyone who crossed him, and in such a delicate way that they usually never noticed until they thought back on the conversation hours later. He was also capable of thrashing anyone who challenged him on the training grounds, and it was well known throughout the Citadel that Ignis was the only one capable of handling Noctis when he was in one of his more… _difficult_ moods. There was nothing more terrifying than Ignis’s disappointed face, except perhaps Regis’s, and Noctis lived in fear of it. Simply put, Ignis was an invaluable member of Noctis’s retinue, regardless of the fact that he was Tenebraen, and everyone knew it, most of all Noctis.

Noctis shot down Severo’s hopes of gaining his ear through his son as quickly and efficiently as he could. He wouldn’t have considered it regardless, the younger Severo was as aggravating as his father, but after insulting Ignis, not to mention Prompto, there wasn’t a chance Noctis was going to entertain the possibility.

Despite his curtness, Severo didn’t take the hint that Noctis was more than done with the conversation. He switched topics and kept right on going, looking at Noctis every now and then for the expected comments that made conversing with him all the more frustrating.

Noctis had just about had enough when Ignis caught his eye from across the room and gestured for him. Tamping his relief down so it didn’t show on his face, Noctis excused himself from the conversation. Thank the Astrals for Ignis; he didn’t think he could have handled another minute of pretending to be interested in the man’s sycophancy.

Noctis was only a few steps away when the room exploded. The force of the blast threw him off his feet. He landed hard, copper on his tongue and his ears ringing. He laid dazed on the marble floor for a moment, confusion the only thing in his mind until the panic set in. His bad knee was throbbing where it had collided with the floor, but he ignored it as he scrambled to his feet, chips of stone and marble tumbling off his back. He barely had the presence of mind to be grateful that he hadn’t been pinned or crushed by debris.

Sound was beginning to filter in through the ringing, screams and shouted orders that Noctis couldn’t make sense of. The air was full of dust, stinging his eyes and scratching his throat as he tried to force air into tight lungs. He coughed, desperately wanting to find Ignis and Gladio and, oh no, _his dad_. Where was his dad?

He looked around, squinting through the dust and debris, but it was too thick to see. Noctis didn’t dare call out, in case whoever had set the bomb - and it _must_ have been a bomb, he realized, his thoughts only just starting to catch up to what had happened - was still in the room and looking to make sure the job was finished. Was he the target, or was Regis? How many other people had been killed?

He knew he should stay put, wait for help to get to him rather than stumbling around blindly in a hostile environment, but he couldn’t just do _nothing_. He had to get to Ignis and Gladio, had to find his dad. He had to make sure they weren’t -- had to make sure they were _alright_.

Noctis stumbled as he took another step in the direction he was pretty sure he had last seen Ignis in, if his sense of direction wasn’t entirely off. Pain shot through his leg, and he choked on a scream as his leg gave out on him. He looked down and noticed for the first time the jagged piece of metal lodged in his thigh. That was… that was bad.

The bleeding was sluggish, just seeping around the edges of the metal, so it hadn’t hit anything too important, or else it was just in deeply and firmly enough to stop up the wound. He didn’t have a potion on him, so he didn’t dare remove it, as much as the sight of it buried in his leg made him nauseous.

He wouldn’t be moving much with an injury like that. Maybe he _should_ just wait to be found. Ignis knew where he was, and the Crownsguard should be sweeping through to evacuate everyone. He could hear them, even if he couldn’t see much more than an arms-length in front of him, and the crisp orders were comforting in their clarity amidst the chaos, a sign that he wasn’t actually as alone as he felt.

It was a little surreal, being surrounded by nothing but dust, a gritty shield between himself and the reality of what had happened, the reality of what he would have to face once he was found. There would be casualties, and he tried not to think about how many. He tried even harder to ignore the guilt that rose up when he hoped that his dad and his friends weren’t part of them, and he was unendingly grateful that Prompto had declined his invitation. He’d never be able to forgive himself if Prompto had been killed because of him.

Noctis settled into a more comfortable position to wait, the awkward crouch he had landed in not good for his spine, and gasped when his movements shifted the metal in his leg. He looked away from it, not wanting to ruin his singed and dusty clothing any further by adding the former contents of his stomach to the mix. But now that he’d noticed the wound, he couldn’t make the pain fade back into the background.

The dust was starting to settle, not enough for full visibility, but enough that Noctis could start to make out other objects in the room, no longer isolated in the cloud of dust that hid him from the rest of the world. He still couldn’t see well enough to make out who the blurry figures were, couldn’t tell if any of the too many bodies on the ground were his dad or Ignis or Gladio. It was, however, enough for him to see that he had been the target.

The epicenter of the blast was right where he had been standing with Councilman Severo. The pillar he had ducked behind to get out of the man’s line of sight faster was what had saved Noctis’s life. His blood ran cold in his veins. If Ignis hadn’t summoned him when he did, Noctis would have still been standing there. If Noctis hadn’t noticed him trying to get his attention and he had come over to fetch him, Ignis could have been caught up in the immediate blast along with him. Noctis was suddenly very glad he was already sitting.

He felt another flash of guilt, this time for the earlier uncharitable thoughts he’d had towards Councilman Severo. There was no way he had survived the explosion, and as much as Noctis hadn’t been fond of the man, he hadn’t deserved that.

There was the crack of a gunshot, and sharp pain engulfed Noctis’s shoulder, blood spraying across his cheek as he screamed. Earlier injuries forgotten as his survival training kicked in, Noctis dropped and rolled to the side to throw off the gunman’s aim. He scrambled up, ducking behind the remnants of the pillar that had saved his life earlier. Maybe it would again.

The sound of the gunshot started up another round of screaming from the other survivors who had yet to evacuate. Noctis blocked it out as best he could so he could focus on assessing his new, worse situation. When he’d said attending the gala would kill him, he hadn’t meant it literally.

He whimpered as he pressed a hand to the hole in his left shoulder. The bullet had gone clear through, which would make it easier to fix later, no need to dig the bullet out, but for now he’d have to figure out how to staunch the bleeding as quickly as possible. He was also convinced something in his shoulder was broken. It looked wrong, and his arm was weaker than it should be even from the pain, which was exponentially worse than it should be from just a bullet wound.

He wished again that he had a potion on him. That would make all of this so much easier to deal with.

Noctis craned his neck to peek around the edge of the pillar, ignoring the strain that put on his old scars. He needed to see where his assailant was. Judging by the placement and angle of the wound on his shoulder, they were most likely on the balcony across the room from him. He couldn’t see them from where he was.

He pulled back behind the pillar just as there was another round of gunfire. Dust puffed up around him again, and chips of stone flew past, broken off the pillar by the bullets. Noctis curled up as tightly as he could, keeping pressure on his shoulder and pleading incoherently at the Astrals that everyone was okay. Clarus had probably gotten his dad out immediately, but he tried not to think that maybe the reason Ignis or Gladio hadn’t found him yet was because something had happened to them.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he dug it out quickly, fumbling it with his blood-slicked hands and almost dropping it.

For perhaps the first time ever, Noctis was disappointed when he saw the message was from Prompto. Even as he stared at the screen, two more came in in quick succession, each one more frantic and less coherent. News of the attack must have made it to the media. Ifrit’s Pyre.

_Sorry, Prompto, you’ll have to wait._

Noctis swiped to unlock his phone, leaving a bloody streak across the screen. He ignored the new messages from Prompto and opened up his group chat with Ignis and Gladio. He knew he wasn’t supposed to send messages like this during an active situation in case one of his retainers was compromised and their phone unsecured, but clearly the hostiles already knew his location and that he was alive or they wouldn’t be shooting at him. There was nothing he could tell them that would make the situation worse.

Noctis: [21:58] _Alive, behind pillar, pinned down by sniper_

He hit send before he could think twice about it and slipped his phone back into his pocket. If they were alive and could get to him, they would. Now Noctis just needed to focus on keeping _himself_ alive until they did.

Noctis shrugged off his destroyed suit jacket, careful of his shoulder. He loosened his tie and slipped it over his head, grateful that Ignis had chosen a wider style than usual for tonight. Wrapping it around his wounded shoulder was difficult in his current position, but he managed it, tugging it tight with one hand and his teeth. It wasn’t perfect, ideally the bandages would have to wrap around his chest to actually stay properly in place, but it was all he could manage at the moment. There was still nothing he could do for his leg, not without a potion or actual bandages. Blood was beginning to soak through the fabric of his pants; all his frantic movements hadn’t done it any favors.

There was a commotion on the other side of the room, heavy booted footsteps, more gunshots and screams, the crystalline shatter of magic that heralded the arrival of Kingsglaive. Noctis flinched at the echoing shots, but none of them were aimed at him. He still didn’t dare to move from his spot behind the pillar, just in case.

“Gotcha.” The murmur startled Noctis. He was halfway to his feet before a hand clamped down on his injured shoulder and squeezed. He dropped back to the floor and swallowed his pained scream when he felt the cold press of a gun’s muzzle against his temple. He hadn’t heard the man approach, too distracted by whatever was happening with the sniper. Gladio would be so disappointed.

“Up, and no funny business or I’ll shoot you now.” He yanked on Noctis’s injured arm, and he wasn’t able to hold back the scream this time. Something was _definitely_ broken. Noctis thought he might have heard someone call his name, but it was difficult to hear over the fear buzzing in his head.

The man half dragged, half herded Noctis out from behind the pillar and into the center of the ballroom. The dust had settled, and Noctis tried not to focus on the bodies on the floor. The whole room looked like a warzone, like something in one of the reports brought back from one of the increasing number of skirmishes with Niflheim that his dad had only recently started to let him look at. It was all the more jarring to see all the casualties in party finery rather than uniforms. His nausea surged again, and he gagged.

“Everybody stay right where they are!” the man holding Noctis shouted, and Noctis flinched. His ears still hadn’t fully recovered from the concussive blast. He risked a glance up at the other people in the room, who were mostly Crownsguard and Kingsglaive. He was equal parts relieved and worried when he didn’t see his dad and Clarus or Ignis and Gladio among them. Either they were out safely, or they were one of the bodies Noctis had tried not to look at. If it was the latter, he didn’t want to know.

He locked eyes with Cor, whose usual stoic expression had started to crack. His hand grasped the hilt of his katana tightly enough Noctis could see the strain in his hand from halfway across the room.

“Regis?” Noctis mouthed, his dad’s name easier to lipread than just “Dad.” Cor’s eyes flickered to the door and back, and Noctis let himself relax just a little. At least his dad was safe. The last place he had seen him had been on the opposite end of the room from where the bomb had gone off, and there had only been the one bomb, but that didn’t guarantee anything.

His relief didn’t last long as Noctis was shoved to his knees amongst the shredded remains of decorations, and the gun pressed heavy against the back of his head. He let it keep his head pushed down, not wanting to see the horror in the faces of those still in the room. He braced himself with his good arm, keeping his left cradled close to his chest to avoid aggravating his shoulder and jostling his poor excuse for a makeshift bandage. He was starting to get dizzy from the blood loss, or maybe it was just the fear.

He didn’t want to die. He especially didn’t want to die like this, on his knees, dragged out in front of the people who were supposed to guard him and executed like a war criminal.

“I’ve waited a long time for this. I’ve waited _years_ ,” the man hissed, “for you to reach adulthood. Because unlike your king, I don’t kill children!”

Noctis tried to raise his head, a protest on his lips, but the man shoved him back down with the muzzle of the gun, the metal digging hard enough into the back of his head that it hurt. Noctis gritted his teeth, clinging to his outrage to try and drown out the mounting fear.

“My son wasn’t even a teenager yet when he was killed by Lucian soldiers. An innocent bystander caught in the crossfire. I thought about taking revenge then, but no. I wasn’t going to fall to the same level as your father. So I waited, and now you’re an adult.” He pressed the gun a little harder against him, jabbing it into his skull, the cushion of his hair not enough to dull the bite of impending death.

 _That’s not much of a moral high ground,_ Noctis thought, a little hysterically. The self-righteous fervor in the man’s voice was chilling, as if he genuinely believed that killing Noctis today on his 18th birthday was somehow _less_ terrible than killing him yesterday would have been.

Noctis tried to lift his head again, tried to stand, anything to get away, to not just stay kneeling and wait for him to pull the trigger, but he’d barely moved, every inch of his body protesting, before the man let go of his shoulder just long enough to shove him back down with a rough hand on his head. His neck twinged at the rough treatment, sending a shiver of pain down his damaged spine.

“Stay down!” he snapped.

Noctis almost lost his balance from the force of the shove, and he had to catch himself with his uninjured arm. His hand skidded through the debris on the floor, and something caught his eye, a quick gleam buried under the dust and tattered streamers. A butterknife, knocked from one of the overturned dessert tables. He still wasn’t very good at warping, even though he’d been working at it for two years, since his dad had given him the Engine Blade. The sword was safely tucked away in the Armiger, and Noctis would never be able to get it out in time to use it, nor would he have the room to throw it, but a butterknife? _That_ he could probably work with.

He shifted slightly, hunching over even more with an intentional cut-off groan, like his injuries were getting to him, to cover the reason he slid his hand slightly farther away from himself. The man jerked him upright by his hair, but not before Noctis closed his fingers around the handle of the knife. He let himself cry out, giving the man the satisfaction of hurting him as a distraction before he whipped his arm back and threw the knife toward a gap in the ranks of the assembled Kingsglaive.

His body followed in a flash of blue light and shattering crystal, with the familiar nauseating tug of magic. A shot followed him, burning a line of pain along his back and side as he crashed into Cor’s legs, and the second bullet ricocheted off the barrier one of the Kingsglaive had thrown up.

Noctis barely heard the cry of outrage from the man. Several of the Kingsglaive closed ranks around him and Cor, the rest pushed forward to capture his assailant. They had it well in hand, Noctis figured, so he let himself relax as Cor knelt down next to him.

“Well done, Noctis.” He uncurled a little bit to look up at Cor and was caught off guard by the concerned warmth in his eyes. “I would ask if you are alright, but it is clear that you are not. Can you stand?”

Noctis thought about that for a second before croaking out a shaky negative. The shrapnel in his thigh was _really_ starting to hurt, and the new wound on his back was mixing with the flare-ups from all his old injuries being aggravated.

“Hm. I thought not. Best stay right there until the doctors arrive.” That sounded just fine to Noctis. He didn’t really feel like moving anymore.

Cor started to stand up, but Noctis reached out and snagged his wrist.

“Wait, my dad’s okay? Ignis? Gladio?” He searched Cor’s face for any sign that he wouldn’t like the answer, but his expression remained level and unchanged.

“They are all fine and were evacuated with the rest of the survivors. As far as I know, Ignis is the only one injured, as he was closer to the explosion, but only superficial injuries. They will be pleased to know you are safe. It was nearly impossible to get them to leave without you.”

Cor stood up, and this time Noctis let him.

“Glaive Altius, you are not to leave His Highness’s side,” he said to the Kingsglaive who was still maintaining the barrier between Noctis and the rest of the room.

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Cor walked away, presumably to deal with the captured assailant, leaving Noctis with Altius and a handful of other Kingsglaive and Crownsguard in a loose cluster around him.

“Thank you,” Noctis said. He’d have at least one more bullet hole without her barrier. She glanced down at Noctis and gave him a small nod.

“I’m glad you’re safe, Your Highness.”

The barrier she was holding was small, just big enough to cover them, but strong, and she was showing no signs of fatiguing. Noctis was pretty sure he’d heard her name before, lauded as one of the best and strongest mages in the Kingsglaive. He felt a prickle of jealousy at how easily she wielded his family’s magic, despite not being born with it. His own aptitude was severely lessened by his childhood encounter with the Marilith, and there were days he feared he would never overcome it.

To distract himself, he pulled his phone back out. Several new messages, from both Ignis and Gladio, offering apologies and containing exclamations of both relief and continued worry. He sent them a brief, coded “all clear” reply before turning his attention to Prompto.

Noctis scrolled through the messages without really reading them, not wanting to add any extra vividness to his mental image of his friend’s increasing panic.

Noctis: [22:26] _Sorry to worry you, I’m fine._

Noctis: [22:26] _We’re all fine._

Not strictly true, and more than he really should say to a civilian before anything official had been released, but he could easily imagine the panic attack Prompto was working himself towards, and he couldn’t do that to him. His phone buzzed in his hand immediately.

Prom: [22:27] _NOCT!_

Prom: [22:27] _thank shiva_

Prom: [22:27] _i saw the helicopters_

Prom: [22:28] _the news says the citadel is on lockdown, something about an explosion???_

Noctis sighed. Of course the reporters had gotten word out to their news stations. The photographers allowed inside the gala had signed contracts and been under strict orders not to release any images until they’d been vetted by the Citadel’s PR division, as was typical of events like this, but clearly someone had broken their contract.

Noctis: [22:31] _I can’t say much right now, but everything’s under control._

He added a chocobo emoji for Prompto’s benefit, then swiped away the notification for a relieved text from Ignis and put his phone away again. He just wanted to sleep. He’d lost a lot of blood. His tie around his shoulder was soaked through, and the adrenaline that had kept him going long enough to get away was beginning to crash. He knew he should stay awake until the doctors arrived, but it was getting harder to keep his eyes open.

Luckily he didn’t have to wait much longer, as a moment later the doors to the ballroom opened to admit several of the Citadel doctors, trailed by his dad, Clarus, Gladio, and Ignis, who was sans jacket and had a bandage wrapped around his upper arm.

Despite Cor’s reassuring words, it wasn’t until Noctis _saw_ all of them alive and safe that the last of Noctis’s worry melted away. He struggled to sit up, and the effort needed to keep his body upright was almost too much. Ignis was at his side in an instant, reaching him before the rest of the group despite having been the last one through the door, and his hands fluttered uselessly around Noctis, unsure where it was safe to touch him. Noctis saved him the trouble and just leaned against him.

“Glad you’re safe, Specs,” Noctis murmured. He settled his head on Ignis’s shoulder.

“I am so sorry I abandoned you, Noct,” Ignis said, his voice pained. “Please forgive me.”

Noctis sat up so quickly he made himself dizzy and turned to face Ignis.

“You didn’t abandon me!” he protested.

“I _did_ ,” Ignis insisted, and he couldn’t meet Noctis’s eyes. “I left you behind. I allowed myself to be evacuated before we found you. I thought…” His voice broke, shame weighing his shoulders down. “I _saw_ it, Noctis. You were right there, and then the bomb went off, and I thought -” Ignis turned his head away, and Noctis realized he was trembling.

“You saved my life,” Noctis said quietly. Ignis stiffened. “If you hadn’t called me when you did…” He trailed off, not wanting to say it. Ignis finally turned back to look at him, and there were tears in his eyes.

“I thought I’d watched you _die_. And then they wouldn’t let me look for you, and I…” Words failed Ignis for the first time Noctis could remember. Noctis dropped his forehead down onto Ignis’s shoulder, leaning into him both for support and in support.

“’m sorry, Iggy. Tha’s not your fault,” he slurred. The blood loss was definitely getting to him.

He felt Ignis rest his cheek against the top of Noctis’s head in silent acceptance, and he smiled. He didn’t like Ignis feeling guilty. If he’d stayed, maybe he would have been killed, or at least hurt more than he already was, and that would have been worse.

The doctors who had been hanging back to give them a moment of privacy finally approached, and Noctis turned his head to look at them, still leaning against Ignis. He wasn’t sure he would be able to support himself without his advisor’s solid presence next to him.

One of the doctors crouched down in front of him and gave him a reassuring smile.

“Let’s get you down to the medical wing, Your Highness.”

Noctis nodded against Ignis’s shoulder, and Gladio stepped in to help the doctors get him onto the gurney they’d brought. The move tore a few pained sounds from Noctis’s throat, and he didn’t miss how his retainers flinched at each of them.

The effort of moving drained the last of his reserves of strength, and he remembered only flickers of the journey through the Citadel and the initial examination of his injuries, though he woke fully with a raw scream when they set his broken clavicle. Shortly after that, the cool rush of healing magic and painkillers lulled him to sleep.

* * *

Noctis woke an indeterminate amount of time later in a hospital room, the same one he’d fallen asleep in or a different one, he didn’t know. There was an IV in his arm, most likely the source of his pleasant distance from the pain, and he was alone in the room save for Gladio, who was settled in a chair with one of his cheap romance novels.

“Hey, Gladio,” Noctis croaked. Gladio startled so badly he almost dropped the book. Noctis hid his laugh behind a cough.

“Noctis. I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon.” His tone implied that he had been hoping not to be there when Noctis woke. Noctis narrowed his eyes at his Shield, who still hadn’t looked at him.

“I don’t blame you,” he said casually as he settled back into his pillows. They were soft, and Noctis closed his eyes. Gladio made a pained sound.

“I failed in my duty to you,” he choked out.

Noctis cracked one eye back open. Gladio’s face was stricken, his whole body tense, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair tightly enough that Noctis thought the wood would splinter.

“Do you think I would have preferred it if you had tried to look for me and died in the process?” Noctis asked. Even if at the time he had very much been hoping for a rescue, he was never going to clue Gladio in to that, not with him already spiraling into guilt as it was. Ignis’s words flashed through his mind. “No one had reason to believe I was alive. Evacuating was the best thing you and Ignis could have done until the situation was resolved.”

“You texted us,” Gladio said flatly. Noctis flinched. “They wouldn’t let us back in. If I’d have stayed -”

“You probably would have gotten caught in the crossfire,” Noctis interrupted.

“Better me than you!” Gladio burst out, rising out of his chair. “That’s my _job_ , Noctis, darn it! I’m supposed to take the hits so _you don’t have to_.”

“Well what if I don’t want you to?” Noctis snapped back, regretting the words immediately as pain flashed across Gladio’s face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he growled.

Noctis sighed, turning his head away to watch his fingers pull at a loose thread on the sheets. “I don’t want people to get hurt for me.”

“Noctis…”

“People _died_ in there,” Noctis gestured angrily in the vague direction of the ballroom, “people who shouldn’t have except that someone wanted me dead. And it’s not the first time.” Tenebrae, and the Marilith attack. Queen Sylva. His nanny, whose face he couldn’t remember clearly anymore. Multiple Crownsguard, in a number that he didn’t want to think about. His mother, Aulea, who he knew only from the picture on his dad’s desk and a few whispered stories. “I’m _tired_ of it.” He blinked back angry tears. “So don’t you dare apologize to me for _surviving_.”

Gladio was silent for a long moment, and Noctis didn’t dare turn to look at him. He was shaking, angry at himself for the outburst, and at Gladio for goading him into it, and at the men who had tried to kill him, and at the Astrals for ordaining his family as royalty and the Amicitias as their Shields. The whole system was stupid. What made _his_ life more important than Gladio’s, or Regis’s more important than Clarus’s?

Footsteps to his left, and the bed dipped as Gladio sat down on the edge.

“Look at me, Noct.”

The quiet gentleness in Gladio’s voice, so uncharacteristic of him, drew Noctis’s eyes up without his conscious consent. Gladio was closer than he’d expected, his amber eyes serious as they bored into Noctis’s.

“I’m not… good with words,” Gladio said. “But I need you to know something. You’re not just a… not just a job to me. Not anymore. I’m here because I want to be. I’ll stand by your side as long as there’s breath in my lungs. And I intend for that to be true for many years yet. But you can’t… you can’t ask me not to protect you. You can’t ask that of me.”

“It’s stupid,” Noctis muttered, a little overwhelmed by Gladio’s unexpected sincerity.

Gladio shrugged. “Maybe so. But it’s how it is, and I have no regrets.”

“I seem to recall a younger Gladio who would disagree with you.”

“Yeah, well, you grew on me, Princess.” He reached out to shove at Noctis before he appeared to think better of it and dropped his hand. Noctis let his gaze wander to the scar stretching over Gladio’s eye, a souvenir from an irate civilian who’d had one too many shots of liquid courage.

“I’ve already marked you,” he said quietly. “You truly don’t resent me for it?”

Gladio scoffed. “What, this?” He gestured at his face. “This is a badge of honor, kid.” He made a face. “Mighta been a little annoyed if I’d lost the eye though,” he added before grinning at Noctis.

Noctis couldn’t help but smile back, if a bit weakly. It didn’t make him feel any better about having people die for or because of him, but at least he didn’t have to worry about Gladio hating him because of their ordained roles. At least he knew that Gladio took pride in it.

And Noctis supposed he could live with that.


End file.
